Showdown
by Gunsmoke
Summary: An extremely short story about a young man. It uses the gunslingers from the Dark Tower series. The R rating is for language and mild violence.


The desert sun loomed overhead, beating down on the god-forsaken earth. Chris stared ahead at the man across the street. Sweat dripped from his brow on to the parched earth. When was the last time is rained? Four. Five. Maybe eight weeks. The ground happily drew up the sweat as though it wouldn't rain again. Chris licked his dry lips. He knew someone would walk away, and the other... well the other would become fertilizer for the earth. The priest came forward to say a quick prayer. Chris didn't give a damn; he just wanted to kill. His opponent's face was shrouded under his hat.  
  
Chris couldn't remember what got him into the predicament. Hell, he didn't even care! All he knew was he would walk away. He would continue to live past his prime and have children. He would continue to drink liquor and fornicate women. Finally, the pallbearer came up with a coin in his hand.  
  
"Aw right ya two. When this here coin kisses the ground, draw."  
  
The time has come, thought Chris, I'm gonna teach that bastard a lesson.  
  
The pallbearer looked at both men in the eye. Then, as if both men had signaled with their eyes, he threw the coin in the air. The coin seemed to hover for an eternity while both men stared on. Then, as if on cue, it fell.  
  
I'm going to get him. There's no way I'm gonna lose!  
  
His opponent seemed zoned out, or maybe just thinking. Thinking like Chris, about what is happening and what will happen. Suddenly, the coin hit. Chris unholstered his revolver and moved his finger from the guard to the trigger.  
  
Bang!  
  
Thump!  
  
Chris smiled. He slowly began to lift up his hand. Warm blood drizzled down his hand. Looking at his chest, he noticed a puncture wound from which blood trickled out. His opponent stood, unscathed from his shot. He twirled his revolver around his finger a few times and holstered it. Chris stared in awe at the man. He fell to his knees, still clutching the wound.  
  
"You bas..." Chris coughed up blood before he could finish. "You... tricked me! You're not a regular man." Chris coughed up more blood. Wiping it from his mouth, he continued, "You're some sort of a... fucking demon!"  
  
The man stood there in silence.  
  
"Screw you to... he... hell!""  
  
No answer.  
  
"Why won't you talk? Are you... sca... scare... d?"  
  
Finally the man lifted his have to reveal his face. Chris was shocked to see what lay hidden beneath, a man in his early 20s with short, brown hair. His face was rough with stubble, a small scar above his right brow. His eyes were deep blue.  
  
"No," replied the man, "I'm not a demon. Some may call me that others call me a monster. They're all wrong." The man wiped his brow and gave a sort of smirk to Chris. "I'm a gunslinger."  
  
Chris's eyes drew wide with the word "gunslinger". He had heard of them. Lawmen, paladins of the west, gunslingers were the peacekeepers of the land. The gunslinger came forward to Chris. In his hand, he held one of his revolvers. He slowly came down on to one knee and pointed the muzzle at Chris's head. He frowned... then pulled the trigger. Chris's head muffled the sound. The gunslinger walked away from the bloody pulp that was once Chris's head. The pallbearer walked up to the gunslinger.  
  
"I would likes ta be the first ta congratulate ya on a job well done." The plump man strolled over to Chris's corpse and laid a handkerchief on what was left of his face. "Now, I heard ya say that youse was a gunslinger, right? Now, I find that very unlikely considerin' that gunslingers are only a fairy tale. So, between you an' me, what is ya name?"  
  
The gunslinger looked up at the sky and threw his hat back on his head. He reached for his bottle of water and took a long gulp. He didn't answer.  
  
"What's yer name?" asked the pallbearer a little annoyed.  
  
No answer.  
  
"God dammit you sonofabitch! What's yer name?"  
  
The gunslinger began to walk off, leaving behind the pallbearer.  
  
"That's it! I'll learn ya!"  
  
The pallbearer pulled out his gun from his holster and aimed it at the gunslinger. Before he could pull the trigger, however, the gunslinger whipped out both of his and fired at him.  
  
"Holy fuck! My finger!"  
  
The gunslinger had shot his finger clear off his hand. Blood poured out from where the finger used to be. The gunslinger then talked in the high speech, "Yes! I have a name. But you do not need to know of it, swine!"  
  
"But...but," began the cringing pallbearer," who'll I tell who killed Chris?"  
  
The gunslinger smiled, a rare site, and began to walk away. Turning his head he spoke, " If they got to know who killed the bastard over there... tell them it was Nathan."  
  
And he walked off. 


End file.
